


Circles

by wraven (nataeiy1)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, but he's got a good heart, it's a bad idea to let the demon get bored
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 06:37:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20421566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nataeiy1/pseuds/wraven
Summary: Summoners are complete morons. Always.





	Circles

**Author's Note:**

> this prompt on my [tumblr](https://tahwraven.tumblr.com/post/187319587059):
> 
> 「crowly being summoned?」

Crowley appears in a _whoosh_ of black smoke and the slight scent of something burning. Not brimstone though. He’s spent too little time away from Hell for _that_ stench to follow him.

It’s been a while since the last time this has happened. He glances around, ignoring the excited muttering of the kneeling idiots in dark cloaks to note the cramped, dirty basement, broken appliances scattered about, and a book he thought he’d destroyed all copies of except for one.

He’s pretty sure these humans didn’t get it off Aziraphale.

The circle is well made, a rarity.1 It’s large too, plenty enough to keep him comfortable and it’d only feel a little bit constrictive with his wings out. Courteous summoners then, who probably want to keep him happy.2 Like most demon summoning circles, it has measures to keep him from stepping outside of the circle as long as it remains unbroken. Unlike many, those symbols actually _work_.

But all circles have a weakness, and it’s always the simplest and the stupidest and the most obvious, so of course Crowley is the only demon to have seen it.

The symbols of the circle, including the ones that keep him from leaving, have to go on the inside of it; it won’t work, otherwise. The circle also produces the subject of the circle _on the inside_. It’s quick work to smudge them with his bare toes3 \- they’d used _chalk_, not even anything that might take a few minutes or a bit of miracling, like permanent marker.

“Lord Satan,” one of the figures makes a grand gesture as the others prostrate themselves in a bow.

Crowley twitches. He’s most certainly _not_ the devil. He also knows that book front to back, and there isn’t a single spell in it that claims it would summon the devil. Either this cult is more delusional than he thought or someone has been messing around in ways they shouldn’t have.4

”We ask for wealth and power, and in exchange, we offer our souls!”

_This again_. Crowley eyes them with exasperation. “And _what_,” he asks slowly, “am I supposed to do with your souls?” Do they even realize that giving away _ownership of their soul_ means the demon can do whatever they so wish with it? They’ll be _begging_ to go to Hell by the time a demon is through with them. If there’s anything left.

“Eat them?” a figure in the back suggests. Another elbows them in the side to shut them up.

Crowley smirks. “Now _that_ would be too kind.”

He delights in the following pause, all of them realizing that, maybe, summoning the devil wasn’t such a good idea.

What will they do about it now, is the question. He waits patiently for the entertainment to start.

“My Lord,” simpers the leader who had first spoken. “We will do anything you ask of us. We are at your command.” They gesture to the side and one of the cultists on the outer edges bolts up the stairs and through a door.

What are they going for, he wonders. Something to appease him? Holy water? He’s not very bothered by that, knowing he can just disappear back where he came from, with the circle inactive. Or, he could disappear to another room, and come back to harass them some more once the danger is gone.

Head cultist is droning on about death and destruction in his name as the runner returns, hands full with a tray of fresh fruit and steaming roast. Apples, much to his amusement, are a main theme.5

Appeasement, then.

“And if,” he drawls, cutting off the leader, “my command would be for _your_ suffering?”

Blessed, infernal quiet.6

Until a murmuring starts up, all of them nervous. The leader tries to shush them, attempting in vain to regain control, and the one with the tray stands stiff with fear.

Crowley casts his senses out, ready to catch the reactions of each and every one of them-

And steps out of the circle.

“I think,” he snickers, crunching through an apple, “that you should all be very glad you didn’t summon the actual devil. He’s a bit tetchy.”

Chaos.

A few of them take longer to react, to shove past the fear freezing them in place, and so get trampled by their compatriots in the scramble to escape.

He waits until they are all gone and he’s halfway through the roast before he turns to the cloaked figure holding the tray, the only one remaining.

“What’s your story then?”

They tremble. He has the feeling they hadn’t expected the summoning to work.

“I just-”

“Just?” he prompts, _nudging_ her to calm her fears. He’s not really going to harm her, after all.

“Just, wanted to get away.” Her voice turns to a whisper. “From my family.”

“Hmm. And joining a satanic cult didn’t seem as bad, when you thought they were all full of it.” He wonders if she’s the one who made the food. It’s delicious.7 “Can’t be much of a family if you want to get away from them.”

She sobs.

“How would you like a job?”

-

“Angel!” he bursts through the doors and ignores the squawk of the woman behind him.8 “I’ve found someone to man the register for you!”

Aziraphale is in the kitchen, steeping a cup of tea.

“I don’t need someone to man the register for me, Crowley. I haven’t ever even used it.”

Crowley barrels on. “I kidnapped a satanist from the states.” He waves aside Aziraphale’s sputtering. “I have to find a place for her to live, but that’s for later. She’ll be great at not selling books!”

Aziraphale sets down his angel wing mug. “Is she here, _willingly_, Crowley?”

He scowls and barks, “Do you think I wouldn’t give her a choice?”

Aziraphale softens, contrite. “No, my dear, that’s not what I meant. Just, when you say ‘kidnap’…”

“_Smuggling_, then,” Crowley snorts. “But I’ll have all the legal stuff in place by the time I’ve gotten her a flat. But more importantly, with someone else not selling your books, you’ll have more free time.”

“To do what?”

“Whatever you want!”

It’s not like the angel needs an excuse to avoid opening the shop himself, but he’s still in the habit of denying himself things he wants, like going on a trip to another country just to sample the cuisine, because what if Gabriel comes looking for him? He’s always been so slow to change.9

But Crowley hates it when he holds himself back merely because of someone else’s standards, when his fear of judgement stops him from _living_.

And this woman is barely more than a child, fleeing the abuse promised to her if she obeyed the people who raised her, and justified their treatment of her with religion. What better way to protect her than to place her under the wing of a being who knows their religion far better than they do? She'll be free to practice her religion here, if she wants, and won't be bound by what other people insist all of that dictates.

“Well,” Aziraphale hedges, already won over.

“Her name,” Crowley grins triumphantly, “is Hawa.”10

-

1 With that book to work with though, it’s not too much of a surprise.

2 He’ll never forget the number of times he’s been summoned to a tiny circle in a large, empty, cavernous room, wings out on full display, and he’d made sure those summoners understood how much he did _not_ appreciate it.

3 He’s been having a lazy day in his flat and they are _lucky_ he is wearing clothes at all.

4 Heaven and Hell had both agreed several centuries ago, after a giant bungle up involving the number of summonings going on, that anything that might tell humans how to use Enochian script was to be destroyed. Crowley and Aziraphale had, for once, been able to work together with minimal editing in their reports to their respective head offices, and most of that editing had involved the scrolls and books, of which Aziraphale had kept at least one copy of each. If someone is giving the humans access to genuine Enochian spells again, they are going to be in a Lot Of Trouble.

5 The idea that Lucifer was the serpent that tempted Eve is a widespread assumption, and one the devil has always enjoyed. He’d enjoyed taking credit for a lot of things Crowley did, and even talked about it as though giving free will was something Hell had deliberately done for the humans’ sake. Crowley had merely been poking around and told Eve what would happen if she ate from the tree. She accepted the consequences all on her own, no demonic nudging required.

6 They really don’t understand anything about Hell, if they’re so surprised.

7 Crowley has never felt any desire to consume, the way Aziraphale does, but an _offering_ has meaning, which means it gives him quite an energy boost. Cut off from Hell as he is, replenishing his energies is a bit more difficult than it used to be. He thinks the angel would like it even without the extra energy though, and it’s giving Crowley some wild ideas.

8 She rightly assumes that the person he is calling “Angel” is, in fact, an actual angel, and she would have appreciated a heads up.

9 Nowhere near as slow as angels and demons typically are. Crowley is merely an outlier, in that respect.

10 Hawa (حواء) is the Arabic form of Eve.


End file.
